


The Name of the Rose Mash-up

by MetalBit



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Name of the Rose (1986)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Case Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, Tags May Change, exchangelock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-07 11:20:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1897107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetalBit/pseuds/MetalBit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the year of 1327 A.C., in the mountains of northern Italy, when two riders on mules, Sherlock and John, braved a lonely, windy, snow trodden path to reach an abbey. There begins a series of macabre deaths, supposedly committed by a higher power. Sherlock and his faithful companion, John, seek the truth out behind these events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Name of the Rose Mash-up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Darkrivertempest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkrivertempest/gifts).



> Disclaimer: This is a Sherlockian take of the movie The Name of the Rose (1986). It is a great movie, but the book by Umberto Eco is fantastic. I would definitely recommend it to any Sherlock fan ^_^. Anyway, I do not own anything taken from Sherlock or The Name of the Rose. 
> 
> To darkrivertempest, I hope you like it, it’s sort of my first time doing anything like this, as in exchanges and prompts, and I don’t particularly tend to post my work often or at all…It was a lot of fun though!  
> I’ll be posting chapters every three days since I need a bit of time to edit and proof read through everything. Don’t hesitate to let me know about any mistakes or inconsistencies, and any constructive criticism is very much appreciated.  
> At the moment, I still haven’t figured out a title for this story. So far, it’ll remain as is, but it is expected to change in the coming few days.

It was the year of 1327 A.C., in the mountains of northern Italy, when two riders on mules, Sherlock and John, braved a lonely, windy, snow trodden path to reach an abbey. Nothing but bare ground could be seen for miles, save for sparse areas of grass, rocks, and pebbles. Their first time in this remote part of the country, the riders had been asked to attend a conference. Many delegates from several factions of the church had been elected to attend the conference concerning the abbey’s repartition of its riches. There had been much controversy in the past few years, enough to warrant an intervention.

A fellow brother, Brother Lestrade of the Benedictine order, is the only reason the riders bothered to come—well, Sherlock's reason. He is indebted to the man and is apparently one of the few friends he has, but John knows nothing more about Sherlock’s relationship with him. Needless to say, it had intrigued him to hear as such from Sherlock considering the man’s antisocial nature, but had no compulsions at coming along. Only his shoulder bothered him occasionally, the trip and the weather doing nothing to ameliorate it. They are both Franciscans friars from the South, not used to such harsh and frigid weather. Furthermore, the cloaks they are wearing do little to keep them warm, not that either of them are complaining. Sherlock is seemingly unmoved by the freezing physical conditions and boredom seems to take up the majority of his facial expression. For awhile, he had amused himself by testing John on his knowledge of constellations, on which they had depended on to guide them, but soon fell into the swamps of ennui once the topic had run its length. John, for his part, starts to feel a chill settle in his bones. Hopefully, they will arrive in time for supper. A warm meal and a warm bed is all he desired at the moment.

Nearing their destination, they take notice of a colossal tower, surrounded by fortified walls. They have finally arrived. It is a massive place, impressive compared to the impoverished countryside they had been walking through earlier. Signs of malnutrition and sickness are rampant everywhere they ride. The peasants are barely recognizable as human beings, much more alike to wild animals, in the way they rush towards any small scrap of nutritious food by shoving and fighting each other.

After entering through the gates of the fortifications, the riders are accosted by multiple brothers bearing with them cleansing water in a shallow bowl, having no other purpose but for this ritual.

As per tradition and custom, two things that Sherlock tolerates to the bare minimum, he soaks his hands in the water along with the brothers of the abbey. John does the same but with less urgency. In the meantime, the brothers that had accosted them give curious and perplexed looks towards Sherlock.

Sherlock had always been an oddity in the church, never quite completely assimilating to the life. For one, he refused to shave his head, the father of his convent had let that pass under special circumstances. Circumstances that allowed Sherlock to have his way with many things, many thought of him as blasphemous but due to the influence of his brother Mycroft, an important cardinal back south, nobody said much except in hush whispers.  

* * *

“Brother Holmes has arrived, he may pose a problem…” A whispery and old voice mutters across the window pane, up above in the reverend's quarter. “Should we do something?” the same voice asks to itself.

“Humm, as long as he isn’t told…. but he could figure it out”

As though thinking to itself, there is a long pause, where only the bickering of crows, the whiffle of the wind, and the muffled noises of people walking and talking are audible.

“No need,” it cackles “he’ll perish first.” And up in the semi darkness of the room, a toothy grin comes to life, creaky, clenched, and fanatically convinced.

* * *

 

****

Arriving at their quarters on the second floor of a rustic dormitory located around the right of the church, they set down their meager belongings. The room itself consists of two rudimentary cots, a small alcove to place miscellaneous items, a small table with a pitcher of water and an empty bowl, and finally a small window allowing a stream of light to partially illuminate their temporary home.    

“John.”

“Yes Sherlock?” answers John whilst lifting his head up, starting to feel uncomfortable. They had been riding for hours and he hadn’t had the chance to relieve himself yet.

“If you return to the court...” Sherlock starts explaining and pours some of the water from the pitcher into the bowl “...turn the building on your left, enter the court on your right, there, you’ll find the place you’re in need of behind the third arch.”

“Ah, yes. Thanks...but I thought you said you’ve never been here?” John asks.

Without glancing at John, Sherlock starts unpacking his luggage methodically, first, taking out his tools. Among which, there can be found, a sundial, a set of glass tubes, some herbs with beneficial effects as well as some others with harmful effects, a compass with other measuring instruments, and many other apparently practical paraphernalia.

“ I saw another brother, whilst we were entering, heading towards the spot seemingly contrite and hurried only to reappear with a look of contentment. Hardly a huge leap.”

"Clever," John says causing a twitch in the upper right corner of Sherlock's mouth. As though dismissed, he leaves to do his business.

Only a minute after John leaves, another man arrives to their quarters. Sherlock stands at attention, a look of recognition flashing through his eyes at seeing the man. A moderately tall man, not of an overbearing stature, but a gentle yet commanding one. He is attired in dark robes, signifying his status as the abbot of the abbey. His hair already bears a greying tint, becoming of his age and giving his physique a taste of wisdom. "Brother Holmes. Welcome to our abbey, I hope the journey hasn't been to tiring?" The abbot inquires, folding his hands carefully in front of his robes.

"Not at all Brother Lestrade, apart from the repetitive sightseeing I have been subjugated to coming here, it has been fine."

"You must be tired after your journey."

"Not at all"

"Oh, well are you in need of anything?" 

"Not particularly."

"Ah well, hum if you'll excuse me...there are things to be done." Brother Lestrade explains with a weak smile. But before he has the chance to get out, Sherlock inquires, "Lestrade, I have one question, why did you specifically ask for me to come be a delegate?" He sits down on his cot and steeples his fingers under his chin, examining the abbot. Lestrade sighs, turns around to face Sherlock once more. Oddly endeared at seeing the men again, his smile wavers into a frown. 

"I was so relieved to hear that you were coming, you have no idea how trying it has been here. So many strange things, many corrupt things are happening here. I do not wish to involve you but I need your help."

" I see... " At that moment, John comes back and closely avoids bumping into the abbot. "Oh, sorry."

"John, meet Brother Lestrade. Lestrade meet my companion John, a former healer for the Papal Inquisition."

"A pleasure, well if you'll both excuse me, I must attend to supper, you are welcome to come along.'' invites Lestrade.

"Nice to meet you too, we would be happy to come, Sherlock?"  

* * *

 Supper is a solemn affair. Although the wine is aplenty, the food is filling, and the benches are sturdy, everyone, except for a monk reading from the Bible in Latin, is silent, some consciously so, others lost in the grasps of sleep, their snoring not that quiet in the end. As usual, Sherlock spends more time observing than eating, whilst keeping silent, for which John is thankful. He knows, after numerous occasions, how Sherlock can be untactful about certain things. Keeping his mouth shut is one the best ways to avoid conflict. 

The inside of the dining hall is large and physically warm despite the cold atmosphere. The entire place is made of stone and wood. As a result, it gives it a distinct quality, including the high arched roof, the intricately carved columns, and the small colored glass windows, which commands obedience, faithfulness, and humbleness. Sherlock and John are seated among the rest of the monks, not given the privilege to sit with Brother Lestrade at the head table. It is no offense, as it is common practice to break bread among their brethren.

Meanwhile, the first clashes of thunder can be heard. No rain yet. Towards the end of supper, the first pitter patter of raindrops can be heard, foreboding the coming of a storm. When the bell of Compline rings, everyone quietly finishes their prayers and retires to bed. By the time Sherlock and John fall into sleep, both affected by their long journey, even if some wouldn't say so, it is 8:00 o'clock.

* * *

Bells are ringing before 6:00 am. Loud, clanging, and definitely alarmed. Something is wrong, and Sherlock and John both know it before jumping from bed. "What is it?" asks John. "Outside." Sherlock exclaims with no explanation and in a whirl of clothing rushes out to find out the matter. Failing to keep up, John hastily puts on his shoes, "Dammit, can't you bloody wait a minute?' he mutters more to himself than anyone. 

Once outside, it becomes evident that the problem at hand is no other than a man. A man that is being carried in a white cloth to the infirmary, closely followed nervously by Brother Lestrade and a couple other monks. A dead man.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As you can see, the beginning of the story is quite similar to the movie, but I assure you the rest is going to go in quite a different direction. Also, I decided to use the same abbey as in the movie, so I added the map to help visualize it. I hope you enjoyed reading it ^_^.


End file.
